


Learned Helplessness

by Higgystar



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:56:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1710749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgystar/pseuds/Higgystar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from the kink meme: Learned Helplessness: When an organism is prevented from avoiding some painful stimulus repeatedly, the organism stops trying to escape it and learns to accept the pain on the belief that nothing they do can change the outcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learned Helplessness

If he thinks back hard enough Daryl thinks he can maybe remember a time when he used to fight back or at least a time when he tried to avoid it all. He’d been little back then, way too little to understand a lot of things, but he knew fists hurt and he wanted to avoid them as much as possible. Being small used to be an advantage, he could hide under his bed, or behind Merle or if he was lucky enough go completely unseen by skirting around the edges of the room and hiding behind items of furniture.

Back then he’d thought there was a reason for everything and he remembers asking Merle and his mother so many damned questions when he was small. Why was the sky blue? Because God painted it that way. Why can’t they get more money? Because you have to work for it and no one liked dirty rednecks like working for them. Why did daddy hit so much? Because you’ve been bad and he has to punish you.

The thing is, sometimes he remembers trying so hard not to be bad and his father had still hit him. He even remembers trying his very best to be good, helpful even and he still got hit. At that age he’d never understood it, the hits seemed to keep coming no matter what he did and when Mom died and then Merle left it just got worse and no matter how polite he was, or how many chores he did or how quite he was, daddy kept on hitting him.

So eventually he’d just stopped trying to avoid it.

Through the years he’d just remained wherever he was when his father spotted him and took the punches. Daryl learnt to wear the bruises and the scars without uttering a peep of protest because it didn’t matter if he begged, or cried, or pleaded or stayed silent, they always came anyway so why bother wasting his breath? Even when he was finally big enough to send a punch back he just didn’t bother because what was the point when nothing stopped? Everything carried on the same way as it had before and nothing he did changed anything.

Sometimes it felt as if the world wouldn’t even notice if he weren’t in it anymore. If there was no Daryl Dixon filling the space he was in or using the air he was breathing then nothing would change at all. Mom would still be dead, Merle still wouldn’t have a reason to come back and Daddy wouldn’t stop drinking or hitting or being mad at the world.

His father used to sneer at him when he gave him the belt, calling him a pussy for not fighting back and then alternating with almost sounding proud that he was ‘taking it like a man’. Honestly Daryl had no idea what being a man had anything to do about it all, he just knew he couldn’t make it stop and sometimes his own yelling gave him a headache. Nothing stopped it from happening, there was no way he could tell it was coming and he just got used to the chaos and allowed himself to get dragged along with the force of it.

There were moments he’d be sleeping and get dragged out of bed for a belting, taking the hits in a half asleep state, still fuzzy in the head and knowing there was no rhyme or reason for it at all. Mom had always said he’d deserved it when he got a beating, but he’d been sleeping and she’d been an awful liar anyway. Maybe she’d just been trying to explain the impossible like why the sky was blue to a persistent five year old, but even now he wished she’d had a better, more reliable answer.

Then there were the times when he’d huff and not do his chores, stuck in a petulant teenage moment of thinking he knew best and that he had any right to stand up to his father. The hits come then as well, but they’re just as vicious as when he’s half asleep and lost in his dreams. His father doesn’t have any reason for it at all, there’s no triggers, he doesn’t even have to be drunk all the time, but it just keeps happening.

That’s how it goes through his life. There are times he sees it coming a mile off and times he hasn’t got a clue until the first hit lands, but every time he doesn’t bother moving out of the way.

Daryl gets older, Merle shows up every so often and now their dad was dead and rotting he’d had a hope that things would start making sense again. But turns out Merle was just as unpredictable as the old man and between the drug induced anger, the drinking, the stints in jail and everything else, the bruises kept appearing and he had no reason for a lot of them. Sure some were earned, he gave Merle a few back in return when he needed to but for the most of it he took it, and he watched his skin flush new colours everyday and prodded at the sore flesh in question.

Living with Merle was as unpredictable as it had been with their father, but he keeps that to himself and takes the good and the bad as it comes. He enjoys the fridge when it’s full or food and the power’s on and he deals with the emptiness when things are sold for Merle’s drug money. It’s hectic, there’s no obvious way to see it coming and he’s just used to living in the moment and taking what comes.

When he’s bruised and drags his ass to town for whatever groceries he can afford, people give him looks, ones he doesn’t understand but he glares at them anyway, hating the way they made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Daryl gets used to keeping his head down to stay unseen or barking our threats to get people to back off. Old Mrs Miller who owns the corner store places her hand on his sometimes, gives him a wrinkled old smile and whispers that he should just leave and not come back.

He doesn’t understand how in the hell she thinks that would help anybody. Merle would get pissed and come find him, he’d be called out for abandoning family and no matter where he went he knew there would just be more fists waiting for him. He sneers at her, calls her a crazy old bitch and leaves, pretending not to see that she gave him extra change and a few items for free. He hates this fucking town and all the people in it but what good would leaving do when chaos seemed to follow him wherever he went.

Merle’s fingers dig into his arm when he yanks him out of bed, shoves some clothes at him and yells for him to move his lazy ass, grab some supplies and get in the truck. He doesn’t question it, he just does it, fairly sure Merle is off his face on something and after a few days of driving round they’d come home. It’s one of the few times Merle isn’t high, the dead really are up and coming for them and really Daryl supposes the chaos is just getting more and more ridiculous as he gets older.

In the space of a few days he’d gone from never having left the town he was born in to travelling for Atlanta and a supposed safe zone. That turns out to be a heap of bullshit and then there are far too many people for his liking and no clear future for anyone to cling onto. He deals better than most, used to the insecurity of everything around him and he just carries on plodding through as the world turns beneath him.

The first time Merle hits him in front of the group there’s a sharp gasp and someone calling for Merle to pack it in. He snarls for them to all back the hell off and mind their own business whilst Merle just cackles out a laugh and shoves at his shoulder in a friendly manner. They’re all so fucking fast to call them out on anything and he hates it, no one never cared before all of this and suddenly now they thought it was their right to butt in whenever they liked. It pisses him off and he knows Merle is already getting sick of playing nice with them all, so he just waits until Merle decides it’s time for them to take off with their supplies.

Then that doesn’t happen, more shit is thrown his way and before he knows it he’s being held down again, wrestling against the arms that pin him and flinch since he knows what comes next. He’s worked up after the news of Merle being left, but he watches them, eyes on the cops’ belts, watching their hands and the way they keep him between them, waiting for him to bolt. Daryl doesn’t bolt anymore, there was no point. He’d take his licks and wait for the next day to dawn.

In Atlanta he’s volatile, on edge and waiting for the his to come. A few times that fucking cop Rick shoves at him but that’s nothing and sometimes he finds himself getting sick of fucking waiting for it at all. It’s stupid but he’d prefer the hits to just come and be over with instead of keeping him on edge. There was no fighting it and he didn’t intend to but these two macho bullshit cops kept fucking playing with him. A gun gets pulled on him once, twice, three times during their time together but there still hasn’t been a real full on hit.

The CDC is as close as he gets to one, when he goes to kill that fucking scientist and gets shoved back like nothing more than a fucking problem. The farm is even worse and the tension gets so fucking bad that he ends up making a separate camp from them all, watching as things get heated and everything goes to shit. When he’s injured he hates that they send in Carol and for once in his life he feels certain that the hits are coming. She comes closer and he flinches, ready for it but unable to stop his body’s reactions anyway, tensing and waiting for her nails to dig into his arm and shake him for being so useless.

She kisses his head and he feels even worse for it.

It’s been so long since he’s last been hit that a small part of him is beginning to get used to the feeling of his skin not being marked in some way. An even more disgusting part of him wonders what in the heck is going on and if this is all a big game to get him completely on edge. Things get tense on the farm, he and Shane yell it out between them and through it all he can feel it coming, he knows the man is losing it and the punches are coming. Some sick part of him is relieved that he knows what to do when they eventually start.

But they never do. The farm is lost, the winter starts and through it all he watches Rick get more and more stressed in the leadership position. He tries his best to help out when he can and give as much support as possible, but this is his place, following not leading and just taking it all as it comes without complaint. The days pass and he can see as each one takes its toll on Rick and it’s on one of their hunting trips away from everyone else that it finally happens.

He’s not surprised but then again he is in a way. It’s been so long that he’d almost forgotten how it felt but he doesn’t forget what to do. Rick’s been ranting for a few minutes and he doesn’t interrupt, Daryl doesn’t give advice where its not needed and just lets Rick get all the frustration and stress out anyway he can. He flinches when it happens, a reaction he’ll never be able to quell completely, and finds himself watching Rick in confusion when the man punches the tree beside him instead.

Rick pants for air, his knuckles are bruised and scratched up, torn a little on the skin and Daryl knows it’ll sting like a bitch for the next few days, but nothing looks to be broken. He watches Rick for a while, sees the way the man kicks at the tree, snarls and grits his teeth in anger, yanking at his hair for a moment before hitting the tree again. Daryl keeps watch as best he can but can’t help biting on his lower lip when Rick makes no move towards him in anger.

“What’re you doing?” He finally asks, when Rick is simply leaning against the tree that took the brunt of his frustration and putting himself back together. A part of him curses himself for not staying quiet as he usually did during these kind of situations, maybe that was what Rick wanted and he’d managed to fuck it up, instead Rick just looks at him sadly before speaking.

“Just needed to get it out is all.” The man gives a tight smile, the kind that doesn’t meet his eyes as he stands back up properly, nodding to him as they prepare to carry on looking for anything that hadn’t been scared off. “Sometimes it helps to just let it all out. Probably should have warned you first.” Rick shrugs and Daryl shakes his head, not wanting to be a problem if this is what Rick needed.

He’s used to the lack of warning and having things happen just because, so he doesn’t understand why Rick is apologising to him about doing what he needed to. “I understand.” And he does. Kind of. Sometimes things just happened and there was no rhyme nor reason and you just had to go with it, take it all as it came and not bother fighting against it because it didn’t do any good. It was easier that way to just let things happen as they were meant to and not complain. Shouldering his crossbow he follows Rick as they begin moving again, chewing on his thumb a little as he tries to explain himself and let Rick know how well he understood. “I don’t mind you know?” He mutters around his thumb, watching the floor and not Rick as he speaks. “If you want to let it out, I can handle it.”

Rick shakes his head with a smile, a real one this time and Daryl flinches again when a hand comes to clap on his shoulder, not gripping or hurting, but just holding him there for a moment. “I’m good, but thank you.” And they move on, leaving Daryl wondering if maybe Rick was just too honourable to do what he wanted sometimes or if he hadn’t explained himself well enough.

It’s not until Lori dies that Daryl figures Rick had understood him perfectly well but just hadn’t needed it back then. The baby is fed, everyone is safe for the moment and he heads down to the tombs to find their leader, wary for any more walkers creeping about as he hunts him down. Rick is lost in himself, blank stare, bloody hands and breathing heavily from where he’s sat on the floor.

Chewing on his nail he steps forward, close enough to be noticed but not pushing in case Rick wasn’t ready yet. “I don’t mind.” He mutters again, picking at his nail, fully aware that the only weapon he had was his knife and that Rick looked about ready to kill with his bare hands. Looked like he already had to be honest. But there was no point fighting the inevitable and this was something he knew he could do. “If you want to let it out, I can handle it.” He tells him again and when Rick looks up to him he knows he finally understands.

Then the other man laughs and he feels on edge again, picking at his thumbnail and wondering if maybe Rick just didn’t believe him. Over time he thought he’d shown how strong he was, but maybe Rick just needed to see it to believe it. Or maybe Rick really had just lost it. “I’m good.” Rick’s voice is hoarse, full of pain and anger and nowhere near the level and calm tone Daryl was used to.

Moving closer he shakes his head, grabbing at Rick’s shirt and yanking the other man up to his feet, getting them face to face as he tries to get it through that thick skull of his. “I can handle it.” He says again, aware he sounds pathetic and desperate right now but he doesn’t know why Rick isn’t following the offer, it would make sense and for once he just wanted things to make some sort of fucking sense. “I won’t move, I won’t yell. I can take it.”

“Daryl-“

“I know how.” He continues, almost frantic, feeling awful and lost even if he knew he had no right to feel like that, especially not when the man in front of him had just lost his wife. “I don’t make no noise or anything, no one else has to know. Sometimes…sometimes it just makes people feel better to let it all out and I learned how to take it and it makes things better for a while afterwards.” Because afterwards there was a calm and a break and the world would reset and they could carry on. “I just…I don’t know how else to help.”

Blood smeared hands cover his own, prying them free from Rick’s shirt until he has them clenched as fists at his sides. He realises he’s shaking and it’s fucking pathetic that somehow this has become Rick having to deal with him instead of the other way around. Daryl was used to nothing making sense, but this was ridiculous. “Daryl I ain’t gonna hurt you to make myself feel better.”

“Why?” It made fucking sense for him to. Even if he was used to there being no reason for each hit, right now this actually made sense for once and he could help in his own stupid way. “Fucking hit me. Punch me, kick me, I don’t care, I want to help. We need you back Rick.” Because that was just it wasn’t it? Daryl was a follower not a leader and through all of this shit the world was throwing at him and the chaos he was used to wading through, Rick had become the one constant he could rely on to make sense. He needed things to make sense again.

“You’re helping enough already.” Rick sighs and releases him, running his bloody hands through his hair and staring at the mess around them. Walker remains linger on the floor, the wall surrounding them and Daryl figures maybes Rick had just gotten to some other bodies first. “Just give me a little while longer, keep the group safe and together and I’ll be fine.”

He hates walking away, he hates having to be in charge and he hates that this world has taken away the one thing he thought he could rely on to stay steady. Daryl just hopes and prays that Rick isn’t telling him lies to keep him quiet and that he’ll say if he needs to take him up on his offer.


End file.
